dear_mun | (no subject)

We all do.

[The words are slow, effortful, still a trace of static lacing the unsteady voice. No unsteadiness to the glare, though. Just fixed, utter hate.

Hi, Clu. Someone's got a grudge.]

And what if winning is meaningless?

[ He notes the static, the stance, the glare, and all the values add up to exactly what Clu doesn't want. Hey yourself, old friend. ]

Tron.

[ Clu smiles, knife-like and utterly devoid of humor. ]

Some of us are better at it than others.

[There's a slight twitch at the name—recognition or rejection or simply the reaction to hearing it from that voice, in that tone, it's hard to say. Stance stays clenched and rigid, a faint snarl below the words as they force out through gritted teeth.]

You lost in the end.

It would still serve a purpose. Victory is just a step towards perfection.

Victory implies loss. It is already imperfect, when you look at it in fuller perspective.

[ Clu laces his hands behind his back, if only to keep from clenching them. There's something remarkably brittle in his tone now.]

So did Flynn. So did the Grid, because of Flynn.

Because of you.

[Harsh and quick and furious, circuits flickering, just faintly, with agitation. The program turns aside, spine curved in a half-familiar hunch as he stills, settles, resets. The anger won't go. Will never go.
But Rinzler had been used to redirecting.]

You couldn't handle Flynn. Now you think you can play a world of users?

[The brittle hate doesn't leave, but there's an edge of his own smile in the strained voice now—sharp and vicious and very not-Tron.]

You'll lose.

[ He just... twitches, a little, because that sound almost exactly like what Flynn had said to him in front of the Portal. You know, just before he ended everything. ]

A User's perspective, you mean. [ His voice sharpens.] The kind not dictated by programming, or the whims of your creator, or responsibility for millions of other programs. Don't talk to me about perspective, User.

Well, somebody should, the person who was responsible for explaining these things to you seems to have been unable to.

We'll see.

[It sounds too pleasant to be be anything other than menacing, and Clu has already zeroed in on another target. He sees that little glimpse of his enforcer, Tron, and that's very interesting. ]

But you're not looking well yourself, there, Tron. [ A takes a step forward, all false friendliness. ] Need a hand?

[ His voice drops, viciously bitter. ] He chose not to. He chose his 'real world' over our world, so I chose to do what he wouldn't.

[A jerky step back. It stops almost immediately, fists curling at his sides as one arm twitches back in an aborted motion towards his disks. Expression still flickers, just briefly, with sharp, cold fear before the anger resettles to cover it.]

I'd rather derezz.

[Much harder to hide his reactions without the mask. Not that deception was ever his skill.]

*and she remains calm; yes, she is fully aware of the danger, but rising up to meet the anger won't help anything, now will it*

Which part of 'always came back, leaving his entire life behind' says 'chose the other world over our world' to you?

[ Clu shifts his stance slightly, tracking Tron's twitch towards his dics, and cocks his head. ]

Now why would you want that? You're an asset to the system, Tron. I just made you better.

[Disks are forgotten. Fists clench, stance coiling in, clenched and familiar and predatory. He doesn't notice. Glare is fixed and utterly furious, words spat out, growled through a tangle of static, shouted against all permissions or restrictions or lingering constraints.]

You broke me!

[So much glaring from this here program. So much.]

You cheat. There's a key difference.

[ What. What. Clu just stares in disbelief for a moment, because there's no way this User just said Flynn dropped his 'real' life for the Grid. His processor must be glitching. ]

He came to race lightcycles, or to fly on the solar sailer beams, or to admire his glitching ISOs. He never came just to fix the Grid's problems!

Ah. Now you're closer to not being overdramatic.

Nobody has ever managed to pin down Kevin Flynn into doing work. And yet things did get done, in his time and in his ways. That's just the way he was.

But he should have brought others in on this. Others who could have dealt with the practical issues that he always assumed should take care of themselves.

[ Have a smile, Perlis. If that's the worst you're going to accuse him of, then he's got it easy. ]

A neccessary tactic, to make things better.

Like forcing us to destroy one another was necessary, I suppose. Like destroying the ISOs and driving Flynn away!

[Sorry, bro. She ain't buying what you're selling.]

You were perfect. I took away everything that made you doubt, everything that made you turn against the system. [ Everything that made you turn against him.]

You took away everything! Made me your glitching pet! Your slave!

[Circuits flicker again, unsteady, and his head dips, jerks to the side as he tries to clear the too-close cache of memory. Unable to fight, unable to choose or think for himself. He'd been worse than a slave. He'd been a tool. A weapon.]

...never again. [Eyes flick back up, fixed and murderously hateful.]

Yes. Rebels have no place in an ordered system, and glitches like the ISOs even less so.

[ Not even going to touch that bit about Flynn because you know what, sister? He left first. ]

[ He takes a step forward, confidence wrapped around him as surely as his cloak. You think you were broken as Rinzler? Program, you're pretty much shattered now. Clu can fix it. ]

Like you were a slave to the Users before?